


Nandroid Witchhunt

by nandroidtales



Category: Emmy The Robot (Webcomic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandroidtales/pseuds/nandroidtales
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

The tall, bespectacled man stepped out from the small chapel, his dark woolen coat shrouding him in the dismal gray of an Autumn sky as he left the small, crooked-steepled chapel. The gaggle of devotees left quietly, somberly, as every sermon of Pastor Jeduthan left the townsfolk. He adjusted the tiny glasses on his nose before stepping away, leaving behind the little church for his home in the woods.  
As he wound deeper into the gnarl of bare trees a small household, stone and wood, peeked from behind and between the barren treetops. Removing his scarf the man lifted up a heavy necklace bearing a key - one twist and he was home again, a low fire stoked gently by a mechanical arm, the shutting of the door lighting a handful of lanterns in the darkening room.   
“You’re home, sir! How was the service,” she asked. Taking his coat the little machine paced around the room, making small adjustments where she’d learned over the years to make them; a little more oil for *this* lantern, when to add another log to the fire, when to give the arm that stoked it automatically an endearing pat or ‘thank you’.  
“It was fine, Prudence, same as the usual,” he returned, slumping over into his bed as he removed his boots, little errant bits of frost clinging to them. “Damnation and hellfire as always.”  
“Don’t speak that way, sir, I’m sure he’s as… *invigorated* with the faith as you are.”  
“Yes, and now he’s off to Salem for spiritual council, ministering on the behalf of the prosecution to the accused.”  
“Oh that sounds lovely, sir,” she continued, chipper as always. A stark look from the man quieted her before she could continue; she’d found herself enamored with the Pastor’s teachings though she could never attend them in person. Her creator took care, for her sake, to take notes of every mass and read them out for her before bed, but not tonight he told her, apologizing. He’d be busy tonight - no time for supper, no time for any reading or getting early to bed. Mister Jeduthan had enlisted his services a week ago in preparation for his travel to Salem, gathering up materials for him and preparing some mechanical implements as well. The pastor was willing enough to accept the man’s tinkering and machine-making so long as he kept the ‘thinking ones’ out of town. The villagers’ distaste for his little inventions quickly waned, when he offered them small automatons for weeding, mechanical oxen for tilling the tough clay soil nearer the coast, any machine that could make their lives easier without speaking would begrudgingly be taken into their homes before they slammed the door in his face.   
“No matter, Prudence,” the man returned, shaking his head of the little anxieties that plagued him daily. “I’ll be in the workshop late tonight, okay?”  
“Yes, sir! Anything I can do befo-”  
“That’s alright, Prudy. Just take it easy tonight.” The little robot’s delicate face pouted at the man, thrusting her broom into the corner before going to sit by the fireplace; she’d taken very heavily to the domesticity that Mister Jeduthan preached so heavily, much to her creator’s worry, and any direction to the contrary upset her. It didn’t help that she’d taken a disdain for his nickname for her, either - it was vulgar, improper.  
The clack of her little needles, furiously dashing against each other as the fire popped and crackled, timed out the last hours of dusklight from outside. Now pitch black outside she arose once more to peep in on her master, busy at work at the little workshop he’d made in the room adjacent to his bed. He sat, hunched over his work table, fiddling with a tiny brass box. Inside was a jungle of little clockwork gears, and the man was vigorously rubbing a lodestone along a thin silver needle before placing it in the delicate glass face of the box.  
“Ready for bed, sir?” The man jumped, jostling the box slightly, the needle responding in turn; it spun wildly before pointing well away from the robot and her owner.  
“Yes, Prudence,” the man sighed. “Seems this won’t be working in time for Mister Jeduthan.”  
“Is there anything I can do to help, sir?” The man sighed just a little before steadying himself, having to remind himself impatience was not a vice Quakers took to.   
“Not as of now, dear. Here, I’ll wind you down.” Standing up and stretching his back he spun the little robot around, gently removing the jacket from her back and exposing the little brass door on her upper torso. Popping it open with a fingernail he slowly unwound the spring-bound tension which powered all of his creations and drove the artificial mind inside the little maid. Her eyelids grew heavy, her voice slackening with fatigue as she slowly lost her balance.  
“Good night, sir,” she whispered before slumping backwards into his waiting arms. With the last clicking spins of a cog here, or the groaning halt of a tensened wire, she fell into sleep. He hefted her up before laying her gently in a corner of the workshop - she refused any decadent comforts like a bed or even a cot. Setting her limp form down for the night the man retreated to his own bed, shedding the last layers of hefty woolen clothing and slipping into his nightwear. A tug at a handy string and the lights were extinguished, the little mechanical arm still stoking the fire.


	2. Chapter 2

The clack of her little needles, furiously dashing against each other as the fire popped and crackled, timed out the last hours of dusklight from outside. Now pitch black outside she arose once more to peep in on her master, busy at work at the little workshop he’d made in the room adjacent to his bed. He sat, hunched over his work table, fiddling with a tiny brass box. Inside was a jungle of little clockwork gears, and the man was vigorously rubbing a lodestone along a thin silver needle before placing it in the delicate glass face of the box.  
“Ready for bed, sir?” The man jumped, jostling the box slightly, the needle responding in turn; it spun wildly before pointing well away from the robot and her owner.  
“Yes, Prudence,” the man sighed. “Seems this won’t be working in time for Mister Jeduthan.”  
“Is there anything I can do to help, sir?” The man sighed just a little before steadying himself, having to remind himself impatience was not a vice Quakers took to.   
“Not as of now, dear. Here, I’ll wind you down.” Standing up and stretching his back he spun the little robot around, gently removing the jacket from her back and exposing the little brass door on her upper torso. Popping it open with a fingernail he slowly unwound the spring-bound tension which powered all of his creations and drove the artificial mind inside the little maid. Her eyelids grew heavy, her voice slackening with fatigue as she slowly lost her balance.  
“Good night, sir,” she whispered before slumping backwards into his waiting arms. With the last clicking spins of a cog here, or the groaning halt of a tensened wire, she fell into sleep. He hefted her up before laying her gently in a corner of the workshop - she refused any decadent comforts like a bed or even a cot. Setting her limp form down for the night the man retreated to his own bed, shedding the last layers of hefty woolen clothing and slipping into his nightwear. A tug at a handy string and the lights were extinguished, the little mechanical arm still stoking the fire.

Come morning, a curt knocking sounded at the door. The room was just lightening, the early morning hour still ungodly by any normal man’s definition. Stretching and contorting as the knocking continued, the man slapped his hand around for his spectacles. Finding purchase he stared blinking into the dark as he set the lights back on. He made his way for the workshop and wound up the little robot again, ‘waking’ her from another night of dreamless slumber. Making his way for the door, the knocker evidently satisfied with the lightening home, the man pulled on his heavy overcoat before finally swinging it open.  
“Ah, Mister Aldham! Good morning,” the visitor said. The genial pastor clapped a hand on the shoulder of the Quaker inventor, a pair of tired eyes his only response. “Yes, well, I apologize for the earliness of my visit but I must be on my way for Salem, yes?”  
“Of course,” the man yawned. “But I must apologize - there’s nothing here for you, unfortunately.”  
“I-How do you mean?” The pastor’s face narrowed just slightly; he wasn’t used to the inventor slipping up or failing when he needed him. Stepping aside the Quaker gestured for the man to enter, but was left waiting as the pastor simply wrung his hands anxiously.  
“I- I don’t believe I’ve the will nor constitution to go in, friend. Please just bring me what you’ve made.” The inventor rolled his eyes before retreating back into the home, just hearing the whispered prayers and appeals to God as he left the pastor. Falling back to his workshop he seized upon the little device which had, for a week now, eluded and frustrated him at every turn. The instant he felt it was working, it’s little needle eeking out a faint direction towards himself or the town, it would crackle and spin out. Sighing he picked up his latest failure, glancing at the little robot still scrunched in the corner, her machinery whirring gently, the lag of sleep still just too much. As he left the workshop, however, the clicking and whirring was drowned out by the robotic yawn, the bellow working itself as she roused herself. No longer lazing on the floor the little maid saw her master with his latest work in hand and sprung up with excitement.  
“Oh sir, is the pastor here!? Come to visit?” She leaped up behind her creator, giddy at the prospect of being able to ask Jeduthan about the faith *in person*, a luxury she’d never had before. The man was less than thrilled, though, taking a deep breath before turning to address her.  
“He’s here, but he’s,” he paused, searching for an answer and cursing himself at the same time. “He’s terribly busy and must be on his way, okay Prudence?” Her enthusiasm waned as she’d received the same answer she’d always gotten whenever Jeduthan was around. She knew better than to doubt her owner but there was a nagging, persistent want to meet the person who’d shaped her so much, at least when she was first made. But sentiments had hardened between the townsfolk and the Quaker roboticist, and the pastor was loath to go against them. The man briefly patted the shoulder of the robot before returning to the door, box in hand.  
“Well, here it is,” he began. “I’m sorry to sa-”  
“Does it work? Listen, man - the things I’m hearing from Salem are dire, dire indeed. What you promised me was an out, something to save that town and all those souls. So - does it work,” he said, the emphasis biting through.  
“Well, Mister Jeduthan,” the man started, gently shaking the box. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but you see-” He stopped again, the eyes of the pastor wide, mouth agape. Aldham turned around to see a flutter of black cloth at the door’s edge, the peeping robot disappeared as the pastor relapsed into muttering prayers for salvation, his own fears no longer subdued. Aldham was torn between the impulse to chase after the robot, to comfort the pastor and have him be on his way, or (it was certainly tempting) to shut the door and retract from the world. He took a much needed breath before clapping the pastor back to attention, explaining bluntly that the machine wouldn’t work.  
“I-You-Control your… your *machine*,” he spat. “You promise me the end to witchcraft in Salem, perhaps the whole of the Bay, and give me a-a-a *trinket* like this!?” Even in the pallid light and frigid cold of Autumn the man’s white face floundered in deepening red, customs of modesty and temperance dissolving as he fumed internally. His lip twitched with the same righteous fury he would lay down during mass, years of distant if amicable relations melting for no apparent reason.  
“Damn you, man! Damn you,” he yelled, a murder of crows fluttering away. He thrashed in place before continuing. “I give you one job, keep the townsfolk from lynching you, and you can’t even summon the effort to save this land from Satan! I tried, I did, with you and your soulless husk in there! But no - no, no, no, you’re limp-handed ‘God in every man’ faith has killed us. You’ve put the knife in our back, Aldham.” The man stomped away down the trail to town, silence creeping back into the desolate wood once again. The crows hopped around in the bare garden adjacent the home. Aldham rested his arm on the door’s lintel before shutting it behind him, retreating indoors once again. There was no time for mass today, only work and preparation.  
As he stepped back inside, the rush of cold air stemmed once again, he spied Prudence sitting in her spot at the fireplace. She was still, her hands folded neatly in her lap, staring off at the wall.  
“Sir, I’m-”  
“Not now, Prudence,” the man started. He sighed, cursing himself just a little more for his idiocy, his carelessness. “It’s not your fault, just know that much. The prejudice of men isn’t the fault of its victims.” He stepped forward past the silent, stuttering robot into his workshop, shutting the door behind him - he’d only have so much time now to make it work. In the room beyond Prudence ached for the comfort of what she knew, but the greatest authority in her life had just damned her maker to Hell. All she could do was frantically dash her knitting needles together and pray for some deliverance in Salem, an exoneration of intent for her owner.


	3. Chapter 3

Another day whiled away at the fireplace, making good work of her chores and knitting, Prudence arose for bed. She’d not seen Aldham the entire day, not daring to enter his workshop while he was tinkering for fear of startling him again. She felt the gentle onset of fatigue, the slow halting of her moving insides signalling to her it was time for bed. As she rose from her seat she was halted by the growing orange flickering outside of the home, a great sea of lights marching in from the direction of the town. Her eyes widened, heavy lids thrust upwards in alarm as she dashed for the workshop; all pretenses of privacy were thrown out, now. She hammered upon the door just as Aldham swung it open, Prudence slipping forward into his steadying arms.  
“I’ll handle it, Prudence. You stay in here.” He clenched his jaw, turning back out the curtained window before returning to his robot. He popped open the little door on her chest, pausing anxiously before winding her taut once more her lithe form energized again as she shivered with newfound alertness.  
“But sir, I-”  
“This isn’t your fight, Prudy. Go in the workshop and take what you can, and go.” He left the little robot as he went for the front door. Stepping outside his breath fogged in the moonlight, a mass of black men standing in the small clearing ahead of his home. Their faces illuminated by torchlight, many holding muskets, their lead stepped forward.  
“Aldham,” he yelled. “You’ve much to answer for, you heathenous… defiler! Playing with Satan’s toys! Get up here, boy. Tell him what ye saw.” The man pulled a young man by the arm to his front. The heavy woolen coat that shrouded him betrayed his bony face, the rail-thin arms and lanky fingers as he shook in the cold. He shivered and rubbed his arms, great spasms running up and down his body before he swung his head side to side and steadied himself, stepping forward.  
“I-I-I w-was on the road to Salem, t-t-to meet the Pastor. I w-was to bring h-him safely t-to town,” he started, gulping in the cold air as he tried to speak his peace. Aldham was less sure that the cold was what made him stutter as he continued. “A-And I found, dead on the road, th-the pastor’s h-horse, and he was nowhere to be found, there was blood everywhere and-”  
“That’s enough boy, we understand,” the man scolded. The boy couldn’t, *wouldn’t*, heed his words, he only continued the inexorable advance of horror-marked words about the remains of whatever he’d found on the trail. His narrow frame rocked with each word he spat, the stutter gone as he quickened in pace, spittle flying from his mouth as he fell into convulsions on the ground, a handful of men pulling him backwards into the heart of the crowd.   
“But you, Aldham, *you* saw the pastor this morning, *you* had an argument with him, *you* couldn’t bother to finish what he demanded so you used your vile magicks to kill him. And for that,” their leader continued, revealing a great length of rope from the inside of his coat, “we cannot have you near our town any longer. You or your machines.” The little congregation all pulled from their coats mangled and dented metal corpses, tossing to the ground the scraps of the little helpers that had once populated their homes. Aldham winced as they tossed them into the dirt, the dancing torchlight glinting off of them like little stars suspended in the returning hoarfrost at their feet.  
“Friends in God,” Aldham began, “I understand your anger that the good Mister Jeduthan has been abducted, or possibly worse. I will not fight your decision for I can see you’ve made up your minds.” He eyed the rope knowingly, breathing deep before turning behind him where he caught a peeping face looking outside through the window, curtains rushing shut as he shook his head. “Allow me just a moment to get myself in order, yes?” The cloaked leader of the mob spat into the ground before allowing him to go. The man retreated quickly into his home and seized the little robot by the arm.  
“Sir, where-”  
“Prudence, quiet, please. Just come with me.” He pulled her into the workshop and thrust into her arms the little brass box and, from a concealed priest hole, his long rifle. She propped the pristine gun up over her shoulder in half-shock, a weapon never used in anger now in her hands as her master was to be judged. “Take these, and find the Pastor. That’s all I can say now - he’s alive out there somewhere, I know it. But save him, for the town’s sake, okay?”  
“Sir, I can’t let them-”  
“Prudence,” the man yelled, quieting his anger after a breath. “Just go, I’d rather only one soul be sent off tonight. They’re here for my blood alone.” He hefted up a great hammer from another corner of the shop and proceeded to the rear wall of his home, swinging its steel head against the wall there with a raucous crack, the wood splintering open. He pointed through the small hole in the wall and shoved her beyond, watching her dawdle with the musket and box before he shooed her away, fleeing into the woods beyond. Brushing the dust and wood fragments from his chest he proceeded back to the front of his home. Prudence knew only to run and run far, her rewound body propelling her with speed rare to natural men, casting her head backwards to the little clearing as she fled into the wooded hills above and beyond her home.  
After a great sprint up the hill she was shrouded in the deepening dark of the woods, staring down the ridge at the smouldering orange of her former home, the townsfolk long departed into the town and woods, likely searching for her. She couldn’t see any human figures, and knew not where they’d hanged her master, just that he was gone, forever. She lapsed backwards onto the hillside and thrashed in the dried leaves on the ground, the crack and crinkle beneath her quieting her tearless sobs. A dog’s barking echoed through the forest and launched her onto her feet. The box in hand and rifle over her shoulder she continued her flight into the forest in hope of some escape or refuge, thoughts of the Pastor momentarily departed as she continued her escape.  
It had been hours of hiking and trekking through the dark, running northward and parallel the road to Salem, the great expense of her energy left her fatigued and incapable of winding herself back up. The moon was setting on the far horizon, blackness encompassing her in totality as she struggled to keep moving forward and away. Her panic had left for raw fear only, flickering lights in the woods and inhuman howls harrying her as she moved, now relying on the butt of the rifle to steady herself while she cradled the box in her other arm. The little needle was still almost the whole way but now, as she’d moved along the road, it slowly drove away from its ‘north’, now pointing directly to its westward mark. Prudence tried to ignore the little device, convinced by the pastor’s anger and her late master’s frustration that it was defunct, useless for whatever purpose it was made, but it and the gun were all she had in the way of scraps of her old life.  
Holding the little box up in the dim starlight she could only barely make out the needle jiggling to her immediate left, towards the road. She breathed haggardly and made the sharp turn that the compass indicated, stumbling over gnarled roots as the bare stretch of road came increasingly into sight. In the muddled light she could just make out a great hulking black form in the darkness, motionless on the road and swathed in a stain upon the ground. She unsteadied herself and lifted the rifle to her shoulder, leaning on one of the thicker trees for support, lowering the rifle again knowing it was likely empty.   
She resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her as she breached the treeline and stood on the deserted road, now seeing the glinting pool of ichor and gore across from her, the sticky red-black of coagulated blood spilt all around it. No flies buzzed around in the Autumn air but she knew it was a corpse, its hooved legs stuck in the air and pinned to the sides of the bloated, ripped belly. Were she human she’d feel the nauseous urge to vomit, but she could only feel pity for the unfortunate horse ahead of her.   
She checked the compass again, slipping sideways as her strength waned more. The needle was spinning chaotically, some force unknown possessing it as she neared the horse to examine it closer. It’s hide was marked by claw marks easily two, maybe three feet long running the diameter of the glassy-eyed beast beneath her. As she knelt closer to examine them the compass calmed itself, calibrating to some unknown force as it swung from north to south, settling on a sloping direction to the northwest, easily missing Salem by a few miles she reasoned. She arose once more, standing expectantly for the culprit to ambush her in her last moments of growing weakness, but no such enemy came. She listened for the ticking of her mechanical heart and knew by its lessening pace she’d only a few hours left, at best. The grade westward was flat enough, neither up nor downhill, however, to keep her up until at least sunrise. She steeled herself for the extra miles ahead and made her way towards her fate.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a grueling few miles more until Prudence arrived at some form of landmark and not just the deep, consuming gnarl of the New England woodland. Following the winding, bobbing path of the compass she’d finally come to an overgrown footpath in the engulfing forest, resting against a tree as she steadied herself. Glancing down at the compass again she watched the needle rock and sway before tracing a circle rapidly around herself, it’s circumference counted in seconds as it spun again and again, now slowing as it made paced little spins in its glass case. She stared back into the thick darkness following the needle’s guidance and watched a pair of dim lights bobbing upwards and downwards as they circled her, glints of starlight hopping in the air. She set the compass aside and brought the rifle to bear again, staring down the long, unwieldy barrel as she watched the two wisps become four, then eight and more. Her iron spine shivered as she watched the growing mass of pearlescent marbles dotting the air, pacing and bobbing in the air like little luminescent corks. Leaning against a felled tree she worked the flint backwards with an imperceptible click, praying that her master had left her with at least a single shot, enough for her to have a chance at fighting or scaring the beast off. With a gentle squeeze of the trigger the woods were briefly illuminated, a mass of sparks dotting the air in front of her face before the pan ignited and a great booming erupted into the quiet blackness. As soon as she had opened her eyes again a shrieking cry flew through the air, the billowing smoke in front of her obscuring whatever she had struck as the rustle and snap of leaves and twigs trailed into the distance. Fanning it away she watched the mass of little lights flee away, its croaks and whimpers echoing through the forest as she slumped down against the tree, her energy finally run dry.  
As her eyelids grew heavy she thought she could hear voices calling out into the woods, shouts bouncing between trees as she watched more little lights bobbing around. She scolded herself for failing so soon in her quest, and her weakness in surrendering to the delirium her fatigue had put her in, her mechanical brain struggling to process what was around her. The voices quieted themselves to her pleasure, and the gentle lightening from black to deep blue through the woods signalled the coming of dawn.

Hacking his way through the brush the squat priest swung his sword away through the brambles. He’d just been heading off to a very overdue rest when his sleep was interrupted by the crack of musket-fire ripping through the woods. Shaking the sleep from his eyes he advanced out into those wilds again, his lantern piercing through the darkness as dawn slowly approached. Slipping from tree to tree he pushed his arms ahead to clear the smaller saplings as he moved onwards, and as he pushed his hand off of a pine tree it found itself mired in a sticky puddle. Hand naturally recoiling in shock he stopped to examine it in the lantern light, the dim light revealing a coagulated grey blob splattered across his palm, the cold ooze drying still as he swung his hand in disgust. A whiff of iron was all he needed to know as he decided to press on, ignoring his now blood drenched hand. The trees thinned barely as he breached onto a trail he was intimately familiar with, now sure he was near whatever he was tracking, expecting the worst as the woods grew silent around him. Shuffling ahead slowly he cracked his toe on an overly-solid log, stooping low to grab his foot before his lantern caught a rich metallic sheen. Twisting his head back and forth he lowered the light to the forest floor, scanning the ground for clues before spotting a small brass box, and next to it, he realized, the unfortunate person he’d kicked in his carelessness. He cursed his carelessness as he set the lantern down and scooped the figure up, her joints squeaking and swivelling to his confusion. They were extraordinarily light, he thought, and were likely in dire need of food and shelter. He investigated the ground again to find the little box he’d lost and, with a deeper look, what he expected was the offending rifle. Hands and back full and creaking, he made his way for his home with his burdens.

Prudence shot awake with a start, the warm air thawing her chilled body as gears worked away to churn her body to activity. The warmth of the room was wholesome, encompassing, safe. She looked around for any sign of activity as evidently some good samaritan had found her and wound her up. She sat up in the bed she was laid in, her clothing ruffled but cleaned of any offending bits from outside, and she straightened her jacket as she stood up, uneasily at first but with purpose when she saw her belongings besides the bed. She seized the compass which had guided and, she pieced together through her foggy memory, saved her. As she paced around the house she couldn’t help but feel the aching similarity to her old home, the low ceiling and dense arrangement of furniture overwhelming her as she sat at a table and curled up, toying with the box in her one hand.  
She’d stared at the little needle for what felt like an hour, the slim piece of silver spinning rapidly, ceaselessly as it was propelled round repeatedly, followed by the misty eyes of the robot holding it. The groaning of a wooden door threw her backwards and onto the floor with a crack, and she scrambled across the floor for her gun and brandished it like a club, waiting around the corner for the unsuspecting intruder which she felt, she *knew*, was near. Heavy boots strode into the home, their owner sighing contentedly as they were peeled off and sent thumping to the ground. Prudence chose to act first, leaping past her corner and raising her gun-now-club above her head before stopping just short of cracking the head of the little man who was before her. He raised his hands in surprise and gently nudged the butt of the rifle away from the center of his forehead.  
“I’m happy to see you’re awake, sister,” he laughed, “and just as much a fighter as I figured. I was worried the cold had taken you and locked up the little machine in there.” He pointed to Prudence’s petite frame as she recoiled instinctively, and let the rifle down.   
“I-sir! Don’t say things like that!”  
“Like what, sister?”  
“I- Well- Never mind,” she spat. “Just please, tell me what’s going on now.” The man pointed to himself and then a crucifix upon the wall. Prudence then noted his complete black cloak, the abundance of books around the bespectacled man’s home.  
“I am, humbly, Auguste Donadieu. I am one of God’s representatives in this land and spiritual council to the natives here, at the behest of his holiness in Rome. I also dabble in,” he paused anxiously, scouting out an acceptable answer to his guest. “I work towards the erasure of what I would deem foul creatures. As we did in Europe we shall do anew here, God willing.” Prudence’s face scrunched just slightly at this latest revelation; saved by a Catholic, she mused, of all people. Even with all that had happened she couldn’t shake *all* of Jeduthan’s teachings, and it showed. However, for the time being, she had to do her utmost to work with the man.  
“You didn’t answer my question.”  
“Ye- Oh! So I didn’t, so I didn’t. Forgive me, sister, let me explain,” he began, gesturing back to the table as he sat down in turn. “I’ve been up late lately, I struggle to sleep and when I do I am plagued with nightmares and devilish imagery. I cannot fathom facing whatever evil has reared its head here in my state. The situation has been dire, sister…”  
“Prudence.”  
“Sister Prudence. Just yesterday three of the villagers I minister to were disappeared into the woods in the night, and I was out until dawn searching, vainly I am sad to say, for them when I heard you fire your gun, and found you and your possessions. I managed to work out well enough how to get you back in working order,” he said, producing a small key he’d carved from wood. He placed it firmly into her hands and pointed to the little door at her chest. “Evidently your maker didn’t leave you the faculty to, er, wind yourself, but now you do!”  
“I- Thank you, Mister Donadieu,” Prudence said, quieting her prejudices for a moment. “But now what, there’s something out there like you said and I believe it’s wounded at the very least, but I can’t be sure.”  
“I’m glad you asked,” he smiled, giddy at the prospect of sharing his work. He ushered her away from the little nook to another desk crammed into the home where a bowl of off-black powder sat. “This, sister, is some blood I found last night while searching - I do believe it is from our culprit in the woods, and if my tinkering with that box has taught me anything, you can use this to track the monster. May I?” He held out an expectant hand as Prudence hesitated, not sure what he wanted.  
“Sir?”  
“The box, dear.”  
“O-Oh!” She quickly seized up the compass from the table and relinquished it to the missionary.  
“If my theories are correct, whomever made this was trying to make something I’ve been toying with as well - a compass for monsters, an apparatus for tracing and tracking evil and witchcraft scientifically, accurately, humanely even. And your maker, who I will assume made this, managed to do what I’ve failed to do in years of work. However this,” he said, tapping the still spinning compass, “this is an issue.” He delicately removed the compass’ glass face and the needle in turn, much to Prudence’s chagrin. Laying the needle down on the table surface he took some water and poured it into the waiting bowl, mixing it diligently as the dried powder reconstituted into a bitter red paste. He deftly and carefully dipped one end of the needle in the foul mixture before replacing the needle and glass.  
“Well what did that do-,” she stopped short as she watched the compass, still now with purpose. The man spun it for effect but it struck truer than it ever had, wobbling to and fro all the way.   
“Your creator gave me the framework, yes, but this thing needs something to tie it to what it tracks, either that or proximity I figured. Put it in the home of a priest,” he smiled, “and it won’t do much good except make you dizzy.” The blocks started to fall into place in front of Prudence as the man pointed out the direction that the needle was now pointing.  
“Well now what?”  
“Well, you kill whatever is at the end of this needle, sister.”   
“J-Just me? Why can’t you help?”  
“If you haven’t noticed I’m in less than optimal shape to be out hunting beasts by moonlight but you,” he said, pressing an empathic finger into her chest, “you, sister, are a tireless machine built by a man of God. It is your purpose to rid this land of whatever evil befalls us. I must stay here for the faithful.” Prudence narrowed her eyes at the man’s face, the gentle creases and just-graying chin hairs betraying his age, something she’d not taken care to examine in the dim home.   
“I wish I could father but there’s not much I can do with nothing to defend myself - I’ve no ammunition, no weaponry,” she paused as the priest’s face broke into a wide, toothy grin. He was practically shaking as he flung open one of his cabinets in a frenzy of someone overdue to talk about their hobbies. He tossed a cloth bound package, then another, to the shocked robot as he dug into the cabinet and pulled out a plain leather scabbard, fishing deeper inside for whatever little accoutrements he could fish out. As he dug around Prudence unwrapped one of the packages to reveal a dozen or more little cartridges all bound in paper, their ends folded neatly and raring to go.  
“Ah I see you’ve already opened them - they’re yours,” he said, pouring an arms-load more onto the table. “You see in my line of, well, work, we must take an active role in rooting out evil. Everything here is silver of some kind - the lead shot you used may hurt something, yes, but kill them? No, no chance. With these you have more than a chance to rid these lands of what stalks them.”  
Prudence reached her hand into the pile before her and withdrew the prominent scabbard, black leather cloaking a modest hilt. Withdrawing the saber from within, its curved blade glinting in the lamp light, she examined it closer. The blade shone bright, brighter than any iron or steel could, and the little inscriptions etched in the silver danced like faerie-light on their mirror background. The man proffered a belt to which she attached the scabbard and, standing up, she took the ammunition and miscellany, filling the deep apron pocket at her front.   
“Thank you, Father Donadieu,” she said, looking out the window towards the again darkening skies; her face turned to one of determination, a smile finding its place for the first time in too long. “I’ll do my best.”


	5. Chapter 5

The mechanical maid marched back outside, now a few pounds bulkier with ammunition and armed to the teeth. Her forehead was gently crossed with an oily crucifix of chrism from the father as he blessed her for her tribulations ahead. Holding the compass in front of her, the full moon now fully in the sky as night descended, she watched the needle cease its jiggling as it eked out the direction to her quarry, not a doubt left in her mind. Leaving the clearing and cottage behind as she had before just a day ago she stalked outwards, back into the woods again.  
The pale moonlight shone between the little brambles and branches, barren and gnarled next to their coniferous neighbors. Clattering between the tree trunks, the scabbard at her side tapped out a rhythm to her walking, swinging free before smacking another tree with a dull clap when she would grab and silence it again. The compass needle still pointed defiantly deeper into the wood, the towns of Salem and neighbors now far behind her, and the priest’s home having faded into the dark as well. Every few miles or so, the moon climbing higher and still glowing through the thickening clouds, she would stop and relinquish the wooden key from her apron pocket and wind herself back up, the slackening of her limbs reversed and her steps lighter, stronger and faster.   
After a few more miles she happened upon yet another clearing, a stark cliff face standing before her as the moon struck off of its sickly, yellow face and into the flat ground around it. Staring into the dark stone ahead she made out a great hole devoid of light in the cliff. Checking the compass she watched the needle swing gently to and fro, following the methodical pacing of whatever lay inside, waiting. She was ready to rush in, gallivanting sword and musket in hand as she slayed the beast but stayed her ravenous mind; revenge could wait some. Falling back to the treeline she scouted around for the oldest, sturdiest trees before finding a perfect specimen and, stuffing her pockets and freeing her hands, made her ascent. Perched now in her wooden tower she set herself up, kneeling in the crux of the branches as she prepared her overwatch.   
The moon still hung languidly in the sky but as it made its dip away from the peak of the ecliptic a sinister moaning erupted from the cave. Screams echoed out as cervine jaws snapped and gnashed inside, salivating drops into some unseen pool echoing outwards. Prudence fortified herself to see the beast in clear light, her eyes long ago adjusting to the faint illumination around her. Prudence readied her gun.  
Lurching forward and out of the cave entrance came an imperceptible shadow, black fur clinging to its limbs and chest, a balding, antlered head jabbering in madness as it crawled forward. The last traces of whatever poor human it had been evaporated, bronze skin replaced fully by cloaking fur over sinewy and taut muscles. Prudence primed the pan.  
The creature arched backwards to the sky, its over-long arms bracing the creature and dragging on the ground, clawed fingers digging into the dirt as it howled in agony to the sky above. Prudence steeled herself as it scampered back into the cave mouth and slung an arm inwards, following it back into the darkness as the clatter of bones sounded and spread through the night. The compass was following it dead on as Prudence watched, preparing. It emerged back into the moonlight dragging a cadaver behind, the arm holding it swinging it up and forward onto the ground with a wet slap. It pulled the body to its mouth as it ripped a chunk from the corpse with its jagged teeth, gnashing its jaws in ecstasy as it prepared to hunt in the night ahead. Prudence cocked the hammer.  
The gentle click and prime of the musket's mechanisms stopped the creature in its revelry, shrieking in anger as it was interrupted during its meal. Prudence squeezed the trigger as the creature dashed madly towards her tree, arms flying forward to pull it faster and faster. The hammer flung forward as sparks scraped off the pan, a billowing cloud of smoke and fire flashing in her face and obscuring her quarry as a shot rang out. The momentous explosion rocked her shoulder as she steadied herself on the branches behind her, another scream erupting from beneath the tree. Aiming for the chest she’d hoped for a single knockout blow, piercing the infernal creature’s heart but its screaming, and the scratches at the tree trunk beneath her, made clear her failure.   
Smoke still lingering in the air Prudence began the arduous process of reloading, pulling a cartridge from her apron pocket and ripping it open before dumping the powder and ramming the silver ball and wad home. As she primed the pan the monster swung at the tree’s base with its claws, the trunk shuddering and groaning under each successive blow. She stopped short of priming the musket again as she peered over to catch the beast with her eyes and try to see where she’d hit it. In an instant she saw the glowing, molten hole in its shoulder, the joint pierced cleanly and smouldering with holy fire, the arm limp and useless as the creature swung with its right. Retreating from the edge she produced Donadieu’s powder horn and tried to prime the musket in vain, each slash at the base of the tree shaking the pan clean. She pushed the musket aside and dug in her apron for whatever other aides Father had given her, producing a small vial of white powder. She couldn’t remember its purpose in her growing panic as the tree began to lurch under the repeated blows of the monster, and in a reflex she flung the vial towards the cave mouth.  
An explosion ripped out, a blinding light returning the forest to daytime for an instantaneous moment as a cacophonous booming shocked the woods and rustled branches. Her head spinning she watched the creature lurch backwards from the tree, its own head twitching as it scraped at its ears and spun to face ear-ringing enemies who weren’t there, its rancid spittle flying from its snapping jaws. Prudence didn’t pause, her frazzled state not enough to stop her from priming the pan again and quickly giving fire once more, the ringing in her own head and fuzzied vision not enough to stop her from pouring another shot into the beast’s center of mass.  
Another voluminous cloud of smoke filled her vision as a weaker, pained whimper fled the creature. Waving away the ash and soot suspended around her she saw the creature still standing, another gaping hole in the small of its back weeping black ichor and ringed by flame. The creature stood tall, however, its movements no less dangerous, but thankfully slower, sluggish. Her hand rushing to her side she left her musket in the tree before slipping downwards and drawing the saber. The crackle of the leaves crushed beneath her alerted the creature as it swung around, its limp arm smacking against its torso. It sniffed the air, grunting before locking eyes with the robot, another mournful whine escaping its muzzle. It lowered itself down, its twisted, black antlers now perilously directed towards the maidbot. It scraped the ground with its one good arm before charging forward towards Prudence. As it closed the distance she readied the glinting blade and sidestepped the beast before slashing its side and opening a flaming gash in its abdomen as it smashed into the tree, the cracking of stressed wood filling the clearing. Prudence turned to face the creature again but not before it swung a great paw into her side, flinging her across the clearing and away from her sword.  
As she righted herself she buckled underneath her own weight, the grinding halt of some internal gear or spring weakening her considerably. The creature rounded once again, now pacing on all fours, limping along on its right arm as it circled Prudence slowly, waiting for an errant turn or showing of her back to strike. As she fell to her knees she dug into her pocket again, hoping for something to deliver her once again. All she found were the dozens of cartridges she’d stuffed her pockets with, her fingers worming between them for something useful. Finding purchase she removed another vial of narrow wooden sticks, toothpicks really, reddened ends sitting uniform at its bottom. She couldn’t remember what they were but pulled them out anyways, steadying her swaying body.  
Holding one in hand she waved it at the bemused monster, its human eyes returning her defiance with morbid mirth, ropes of fetid saliva snapping as it opened its mouth to laugh coarsely. Prudence fumbled with the singular splinter of wood and tried vainly to activate it, opting to throw it onto the ground where it did nothing but sit. She took two more from the vial this time, the beast still circling and waiting her out, and she furiously rubbed them together. A flash of fire singed the articulated wooden plates on her hands as she cast the sticks to the ground, crinkling leaves and brush taking to them quickly. The little glimmer of flame was not enough to dissuade the monster as its sinewy legs coiled once again and finally propelled it, Prudence distracted in her pocket, towards the robot. She failed to dodge in time as it bore its antlers into her and threw her across the clearing, square into her former overwatch. The sharp crack of her own wooden back panel sent another clap through the forest as the bullied oak finally collapsed under the stress.  
The creature reared onto its hind legs and roared in triumph as Prudence flailed on her back, the contents of her pouch spilling out as she tried to get up, her back panel free of its slot and grinding anxiously against her mechanism. Through will she pulled herself up by the trunk of another tree, and searched for the vial as the creature continued its revelry. Producing another match from the bottle she grabbed in the dark for a paper cartridge, her mind racing for distractions so she could escape. Seizing one of the little parcels in her hand she quickly struck the match on its coarse side, strike after strike yielding nothing but the dull slip of each successive attempt. As the creature slowed its jumps it pranced around again, the growing fire in the center of the clearing the least of its concerns as its hellish face began to focus on the still living android.   
Strike after strike against the paper edge of the cartridge relinquished nothing as Prudence frantically scrubbed the match until it was just a nub, the phosphorus long etched away into the paper. Spinning her head in panic she dove backwards into the woods as the monster snarled and pranced in faster circles, too afraid to enter the bramble owing to its size, at least so long as it was in danger. Noticing the brief reprieve from its jeers and attacks she weighed her options, watching the beast gallop around on its hind legs before slapping the ground with its good arm. Each slap sounded closer and closer, however, as she watched the growing fire in the clearing, the beast creating more breadth between itself as it was pushed to the meadow’s edge. Prudence leaped into action and flung the vial into the fire where, after a moment, the shattering of glass and a muffled roar signalled to her the secondary ignition. Running along the circumference of the glade the rounded to the spot her sword had clattered to and, digging though the odd half dozen of cartridges she flung one forward into the inferno.  
The monster twirled on its hooves and lurched forward towards the treeline where his quarry was emerging, not noticing the miniscule paper parcel drifting overhead into the fire. As it rounded the growing blaze towards the robot another crack of gunpowder went off, the errant bullet rocketing out of the fire and into the rear of the creature’s left thigh. Howling again in pain it lurched forward before collapsing to the ground mid-sprint, trying desperately to right itself with its good arm. Prudence took no precautions and, sword thankfully retrieved, rolled another cartridge along the ground straight into the fire. Another rapturous blast and a fourth silver ball was propelled across the breadth of the creature’s torso, its lungs destroyed in the blast as it pulled at the dirt with its arm, inching away from the blaze in futile flight.  
Prudence wearily approached the pitiable, wheezing heap beneath her with the sabre in hand. Swirling in her mind were old sermons of the hellfire awaiting sinners pinned against the immense mercy of God as she stood over the gurgling monster, coughing and choking on its own blood as it slowly drowned. With disgust Prudence looked away before plunging her sword into its back, silencing it utterly. The woods were silent again save for the growing roar of the inferno behind her and, hushed by it, the aching creak of each gear inside of her, fighting for life and purchase on each other after being rocked. She reached her lithe arms into her jacket and pulled out the cleaved plate of wood that made up her back, feeling the coarse cloth brush against her bare machinery as she tossed the lacquered pieces onto the fire. She cleaned her sword on her apron, the frilly white marred by fowl black smudges.


	6. Chapter 6

Prudence wobbled back into the darkness towards her fallen oak tree, fishing through the branches for her rifle and the box. After another, less energizing wind-up and a snapping of some thinner branches she revealed her things, the rifle’s butt was cracked beyond repair and the entire action mangled, the barrel just curved past utility. The compass, however, was still functioning perfectly, still drawing a line to the moldering corpse of the monster. She scooped up the compass and returned to the corpse for a last inspection. She expected, upon returning to it, to just take a trophy for the Father and finally be at rest, find a quiet existence in service with him. But as she lopped off one of the creature’s paws she investigated, finding scraps of fabric mingled into the fur. The deep black cloth was unmistakable as belonging to her own people, her exile doing little to efface the memory of their modest clothing. She scooped out the little fabrics and, safely away from the fire, wrapped them around the newly clean needle. The compass bowed and swayed for a moment as it found it’s new north but, settling down again, it pointed directly into the cliff face. She stared at the ominous cave mouth but knew no one in there was alive and, checking again, weren’t even the owners of the parent cloth. She cast the paw into the fire as she started her trek around the towering cliffs to whatever lay beyond.  
It was another two hours before the cliff started to slope down and away and she could, with some scrambling and clawing, make her way up the lessening grade to its top. Now staring out over the lower canopy of trees she checked again and began her linear march onwards, stopping more frequently to wind herself up and adjusting herself for comfort, her gears grinding in the cold. Rising above the forest floor to the small plateau she started again to sweep her vision from side to side, ever vigilant lest some other monster erupt from the undergrowth and stop her. Checking the compass again she slowly rotated it, the needle swaying little as she provoked it - she was close. Rising from a small defilade in the terrain she spotted, in a wide meadow rounded by the trees below, a quaint home, a chimney fuming despite the late hour and the windows illumined. The compass was unwavering as she moved it around again. She was here.  
Coming to the house she crouched low beneath the windows, creeping along the ground outside through an empty garden plot to the doorstep. She paused and listened at the entrance and, save for the odd pop of the fire inside, heard nothing nor no one stirring. Standing up again she gently caressed the doorknob and pressed inward, the compass needle swinging to her immediate left. Inside was a cozy homestead, no different than the myriad cottages and shacks in her former home, save for the ominous pointing of the compass. A jacket was hung with care on a rocking chair where a pair of needles and a half-finished scarf lay, the whole of the house arranged around the fire. Prudence slipped between the odd bits of furniture and hanging cookery, taking care not to disturb a single thing as she followed the needle’s dependable direction.   
Stopping in the furthest corner of the house it began again to spin furiously and for a moment she was frozen, convinced she’d just broken into some poor person’s home. As she scrambled to gather herself and make away like nothing had happened her feet dashed on the floor in the corner and, to her ears, a hollow knock rang out into the home. Peering down she could tell the boards were almost expertly arrayed to block any unwanted peeping, save for little knots and splits in the wood itself. Only darkness lay beyond those peepholes but it was enough to warrant investigation. She weighed her options quickly, balancing quick and loud for quiet and slow, and the idea of prying the boards up with her sword risked breaking the blade as well. Reaching into her apron for a match Prudence decided on the former but, finding none, quickly swept the house for some light other than the fire. Seizing a cold candle in its dish she hastily lit the wick in the fireplace before producing two of the cartridges, brusquely tossing them into the corner, their wrappers alight. Stealing herself away and into cover the house was filled with a violent booming and the clatter of wood sounded from some space below. Now in the corner was a small, neat hole that Prudence took no time to kick wider and drop down, descending into a cold stone crawlspace.  
Sprawling around her was a tangled mess of stone walls, wrapping around and beneath Prudence as she crouched low into the short space. This time, mercifully, there was an obvious hatch lying ahead of her which she seized on as the compass straightened out once again. Swinging it open she was met by another swallowing mess of darkness, the only light dancing around her the candle she’d taken with her. Sliding at the pit’s precipice her feet dangled, questing for purchase until she slipped down. The candle cast little peeps of light around the room as streaks of orange and red began to run from the walls. Prudence collected the toppled candle and searched for some more light, the grinding of her machinery quieting the gentle throbbing in the room. As she searched what she figured were tables she sent a lantern clattering end over end as it rolled along, stopping abruptly against the wall. A kiss of flame between them and the room was flushed with a little more light, the thumping in the room growing louder and faster as Prudence adjusted the lantern.  
Oil flooding in the lantern roared a little song as the walls groaned and cracked, a great organism breathing and thrumming the walls with energy, the room finally came alight as Prudence finished her fiddlings, turning around to see a wall plastered with viscera, a dozen eyes all frantically and independently darting around in fear, pain or both. At the center was a massive pustule sheathed in veins and arteries, pulsing faster and faster as she and her shining blade neared it. The walls groaned inwards and outwards, the musty air circulating as it was sucked in and out of the trap door, Prudence staring in revulsion at whatever primordial evil sat before her, the eyes slowly focusing themselves all on her. Tendrils of flesh wiggled and tried to reach out to grab her but were dissuaded by a swing of the lantern. She retreated briefly, the compass not pointing her to the beating heart but a side room, adjacent and dark. Her singular beam of light split the room in two and, peering into the stygian void, she caught a prone form lying in the dark.   
Rushing ahead at the needle’s behest she left the groaning room behind for its neighbour, finding a room scattered with people, heaped piles of bodies unstirring and void of their belongings, a nearby table bedecked in stolen jewelry, baubles and more. Prudence ignored them and followed the compass, recoiling as it began to spin again over what her destination, a singular fair-skinned hand reaching out from a heap of locals. They didn’t stir at all as she began to yank and pull at the proffered arm and they spilled limp onto the stone floor as she fell backwards repeatedly, trying desperately to free the man. Another winding and he was free, the only person alive amid the piles and undoubtedly Mister Jeduthan. She tried vainly to rouse him for an escape but his slack body gave no answer, only the weak rise and fall of his chest evidence of his clinging to life. Prudence stowed the compass as she searched among the table of stripped loot for something of use, strings of seashells and carved crosses and more dashed aside as she stumbled upon a singular pistol amid the booty. Someone was keeping an eye on her, she knew, as she jammed powder and ball into it and crammed it into her apron.  
Returning to the main chamber with the Pastor perilously over her shoulder she unsheathed the silver blade again, the eyes frantically reeling around in their sockets as she approached the heart, driving the blade repeatedly into the heart there over and over again. The cellar heaved in muted agony, the grinding of the cobblestones against each other and bits of falling dirt and dust enough to tell her it was time to go. She smashed the lantern to the ground and into a spreading, flaming pool as she made her ascent again. Dragging the pastor through the crawlspace and up into the home again, just avoiding the licks of flame spouting from the basement, Prudence entered an empty home, destitute and cold, the fire having died save for a few blood-red embers. Hefting the man back onto her shoulder she dashed away from the home and frantically in the direction of home, the compass knowing to settle itself on the right axis by some unknown will. A great wailing sounded in the distance.


	7. Chapter 7

Prudence fled through the woods for hours, the full moon having long dipped to the horizon she stumbled through the dark on starlight and intuition alone, her only guide the compass she could no longer even see. Shadows jumped and snarled at her at every turn and even a moment’s stop to wind up seemed a death sentence. Resonating through the woods was a mournful crying, the same note vibrating into Prudence’s spine as she inched nearer the town, cresting hills and valleys in the dark as even the stars were occluded by cloud. In pitch black she could do little but keep moving, tripping every few meters and taking care to shield the pastor. Time and again in the dark the cries grew nearer but Prudence evaded their seeming epicenter, shimmering air revealing itself deep into the black beyond as she dipped and juked every which way, always following the needle home.  
At last, mercifully, she broke the treeline once again onto the main road to Salem. The air was growing colder by the mile as she hobbled along the cleared pathway, hardened ruts in the mud doing little to help her on her way as she collapsed forward. She waved her hand around in her apron for the key and wound herself up again, feeling no stronger than she had before. Her limbs became lead and the weight of the pastor on her back quashed her every movement. Prudence would wind herself up only for her strength to leave her, the key spinning backwards each time as she tried desperately to get up, the chilling air doing nothing to help her. The wailing neared.  
With a last-ditch snap of the wooden key Prudence locked it into place, her springs taut for the last time as she rolled the pastor off of her back. Standing up as her springs and gears shrank in the cold, a fog rolling in from either side of the road. At last the duo were surrounded in a silent cloud, a chilled vaporous blanket consuming any iota of sound as Prudence whirled around, one hand at her sword and the other already pointing the pistol off into the distance. The crunching of hoarfrost in the distance creeped through the mist, heavy boots trodding on the freezing ground as Prudence spun slowly again, focusing in on the rhythmic croak of the approaching enemy, each step just an inch closer until a face emerged from the mist.  
“Prudy, it’s okay,” he said. She froze. Her old master’s face, and then his hulking frame, broke through the fog as he stepped closer, his boots mashing the ground beneath him. “You’ve done your job, now just leave the pastor and we’ll go back to town, okay?”  
“You-You were supposed to be gone, you’re dead,” she wept. “You’re not real!”  
“How can’t I be real when I can do this,” he said. He slid up to her back and produced from nowhere another backplate, identical to the last, and slipped it into place like it had never left, like *he* had never left. “Or this.” With a swift elbow strike to the small of her back Prudence crumpled under her own weight, her legs frozen and immobile as she tumbled backwards. Staring down at her was a robed woman, her face young still but creased and, as Prudence narrowed her eyes, aging by the second.  
“You’ve done a lot to interfere, here, and I must commend your work, frankly,” she spat. “Though most of the credit does go to your dear master, your maker, that wily rascal. I’ll be taking this, too dangerous in the hands of someone with vengeance on their mind.” The witch bent over and fished around in the apron for the compass, stealing it away into a satchel.  
“Oh! And what’s this?” She pulled the pistol out too before throwing it aside with a wet slap, the pan jostling as it tumbled away. “You were so very close, but now - now it is time to rebuild.” It began to snow, fat heavy flakes drifting down from on and hitting the ground like little footfalls. Prudence gazed up into the opening sky, little specks of ice dotting her cold cheeks as she writhed powerless on the ground, the snow sticking around her as her machinery ground to a halt. A little click sounded next to her and she awaited the end.

At once the forest was illuminated with another shower of spark and flame as the crack of pistol fire rang in the dark, a woman’s shriek echoing into the night before being cut short, a body slumping into the thickening drifts of snow as the weather turned to a blizzard. The pastor collapsed again onto the ground as the haze of smoke lingered and condensed in the frigid atmosphere. Prudence felt her very core seizing up as time stretched and ebbed, the smack of the pastor back to the ground signaling at least part of her failure - she’d failed to get him home safe, her eyes closing on the world in defeat.


	8. Chapter 8

The pounding of hooves on dirt thundered through the growing dawn, the sun just gracing the horizon as pitch-black turned to gray, grayer still with the falling snow. The trio of men rode from the town, spurring their horses onward, ready to kill the perpetrator of what they were sure was yet another murder outside their sacred town. Hammering along the packed dirt road snow was dashed and tracks laid, ready to be filled by the thickening blizzard. The fog had retreated in exchange for a worsening snow storm, banks and drifts forming as the posse forged ahead, pistols and swords at the ready. The scene they arrived at was their missing pastor trudging forward through the snow, each step heavier and weaker than the last as he passed the horsemen unnoticed, the brim of his hat bent low into the biting wind. They tried to stop him but he continued unvexed to the town, only surrendering to them when he collapsed again into the snow.   
As the sun rose higher and the storm continued, the pastor was roused, coherent enough to tell his story and exonerate the dead Quaker and his robot. There was no such jubilation for the robot, who sat cold and motionless by the fireplace, a quick thaw the only treatment they could offer. The pastor rebuked his congregation for their actions and swore to hold onto the little robot who, he said, had awakened on his back only to say her master’s name and apologize to him before lapsing into unconsciousness again. There would be no eyes fluttering awake for her, not in this cold he knew. It was all he could do to tend the robot and try, confounded almost always, to correct the kinks in her gears she’d gathered, waiting for the day she would wake up.


End file.
